


The Poet and His Slave

by A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin



Series: Will We Be Stuck Like This Forever? [6]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Roman, M/M, Slavery, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin/pseuds/A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were fooling themselves, believing that they could pretend that one of them was not a slave, but an equal, and most definitely not owned by the man who controlled the fates of both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Poet and His Slave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OctobersLily510](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctobersLily510/gifts), [FiliKiliThorinForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliKiliThorinForever/gifts).



> Again, this is the culmination of two prompts which I sort of changed around a little to fit my writing but I still hope that everyone enjoys this :)
> 
> OctobersLily510 prompted: "Slave/Master - Roman times?"
> 
> FiliKiliThorinForever prompted: "Maybe Mitchell is a prince and Anders is a slave, they get caught together and Anders is killed in front of Mitchell, then Mitchell kills himself?" (Please note that there is no suicide in this because in this verse, if they commit suicide then there is the risk that their timelines will be distorted and they might not meet again in the future.)
> 
> Although the Romans did not have surnames in the sense that we think of surnames, Mitchell will still be referred to as 'Mitchell' in the narrative.
> 
> Also, it's still the 29th July where I am so this oneshot is dedicated to the fact that it is Mitchell's birthday.

He was relaxing in the exhedra when one of his family’s slaves interrupted his calm atmosphere by bursting into the room, completely out of breath.

“What is going on?” he asked the slave, who was currently bent double in the doorway. “Who sent you running like that? Has something happened?”

“Master Lucius sent me,” the slave finally replied, “His new slave has arrived and he wants you to meet him immediately. He said it was very important and told me to run all the way back here.”

“Master Lucius needs to learn that he can’t order around slaves which aren’t his,” he replied sharply, “I hope he wasn’t too rude to you again. It’s a shame I can’t hit him in public because that would be fun.”

“He’s your patron, Master,” the slave said, not even bothering to sound shocked anymore, they’d had similar conversations too many times before. “You shouldn’t speak ill of him.”

“He deserves it,” he retorted crossly. “Did he anything else about the new slave?”

“Nothing, Master.”

“Then he probably just wants to show him off. Alright, I’ll go now and catch him before he goes for dinner at the eighth hour.”

“Shall I come with you, Master?”

“I wouldn’t trouble yourself,” he replied, “It’ll mostly likely just be him talking at me again. I’ll be home for dinner afterwards.”

And with that he headed out into the streets. He liked maintaining an informal relationship with his household slaves, mostly because he felt sorry for how they’d been bought against their will by his parents and since his parents had died in a shipping accident, he’d been left to look after them. He’d freed a few of them, but most of them were not eligible for their freedom yet so they remained in his service.

Still, he wondered why Master Lucius had been so insistent that he should meet his new slave. It wasn’t as if his patron buying a new slave was a novel occurrence, there always seemed to be a steady stream of slaves entering his household and then leaving under rather shadowy circumstances. He detested the man and he detested the way that he treated other people.

Yet if he wanted a patron for his poetry, then he was stuck with Master Lucius because apparently he was the best man for the job; if best meant richest that was. And money was what he needed right now, so he hadn’t really got a choice.

It wasn’t far to the other man’s house, which meant that it was partly convenient if he was summoned at short notice, but also partly inconvenient because the excuse that it was too far out of his way wasn’t viable.

He knocked sharply on the door which was opened promptly by a meek looking house slave. His patron was waiting for him in the triclinium, he was told, before the slave hurried away to attend to other business. It didn’t matter, he’d been there enough times to know where the dining room was; his patron seemed overly fond of eating and was rarely seen elsewhere.

“Ah, Anders, you’re here,” Master Lucius looked up when he entered but made no move to rise and greet him.

“I hear that you have a new slave to show me, Master Lucius.”

“Indeed I do. Just purchased him from the market this morning, a good strong lad if not a little barbaric, he’s just been brought over from Britannia, you see, but someone taught him to read and write our language.”

Anders nodded automatically as his patron stuffed several grapes in his mouth without offering anything to his client.

“So, I had this wonderful idea,” Master Lucius continued, “I thought that since he can read and write, he can help you with your poetry. You dictate it, and he can write it.”

“I’d really just rather write it myself,” Anders replied quickly, “It’ll be easier that way.”

“Nonsense,” Master Lucius shook his head, before turning to yell out of the door: “Someone bring the new boy in!”

There was a shuffling outside as one of the older slaves showed the newcomer into the dining room and Master Lucius finally got up to show the man off to the blond.

“This is my new slave,” he said rather proudly, “The trader said that his name is John, so I think I’m going to keep that, saves me the hassle of renaming him, I suppose. So, what do you think, Anders? Will he do?”

Anders blinked rapidly, trying to bring himself back into reality and make his mouth form the answers to his patron’s questions but the sight of the dark-haired man in front of him had stopped his mind from thinking coherently.

“I mean, he’s a little wild, a barbarian,” Master Lucius continued, mistaking the blond’s silence for indecision, “And he’s been branded on his arm but it can’t have been serious otherwise they’d have marked his forehead instead.” He pulled the slave’s left arm forward and displayed the large ‘F’ brand to his client to illustrate his point. The slave didn’t react, his eyes fixed firmly on Anders.

Finally, the blond found his voice.

“Actually, I should never have doubted you in the first place,” he said, “He’ll do perfectly. Can I take him home with me so that we can get started straight away? I’ve got plenty of ideas lying around.”

Master Lucius chuckled; never a good sign.

“No, no, no, Anders, he’s _my_ slave after all, and I plan to get at least a little use out of him myself,” he replied, “You will do your work here instead. I’ll clear a workspace for you and you can get started tomorrow.”

“Will it be private?”

“Of course.”

“Fine, I’ll start tomorrow. I’ll head down to the market now and buy myself some supplies.”

“Good. I’ll expect you back here at the third hour. Ready to work, mind you, none of that preparation time you claim to need.”

“Of course not,” Anders bowed his head quickly, as his patron raised his hand in dismissal. “See you tomorrow. Both of you.”

He headed for the door, catching sight out of Master Lucius turning his back and becoming fully engrossed in the food once more as he did so. He smirked to himself and stepped silently past Mitchell, darting his fingers out and running them lightly down the other man’s arm before quickly clasping them around his wrist. He looked up for the slightest second and upon making eye contact, nodded briefly, and then he was gone from the room.

Mitchell tried to will away the colour that was rising in his cheeks before returning to staring determinedly at the opposite wall.

His new master never even spared him another glance.

* * *

Anders was pretty sure that he’d given his household slaves a severe fright when he actually appeared at breakfast promptly, rather than rushing in just before he was due to be somewhere and having to take most of it with him to eat as he walked.

“Something special happening today?” one of the slaves asked him as he rushed through his thanking of the household spirits.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“I shouldn’t rush through the rituals like that,” the slave gave a nod towards the small shrine. “You’ll tempt Fate.”

Anders grinned.

“Trust me,” he said as he headed for the front door, “Fate will do what she wants with me, regardless of how many prayers I say.”

And before the slave could open his mouth again, he was closing the door behind him and practically jogging down the street in the direction of his patron’s house. He knocked on the door sharply, almost inviting himself inside before the slave behind the door could welcome him in.

Master Lucius was waiting for him in the atrium; Mitchell was nowhere in sight and that fact alone made Anders’ fists clench at his sides.

“This way,” his patron beckoned for him to follow him, “The slave is waiting for you already. I take it that you have everything to get started straight away?”

Anders nodded and motioned to the bundle under one arm.

“You’ll be working in here,” Master Lucius pulled aside the heavy curtain which separated the room from the rest of the house. “It was a spare room but I brought in a table and some couches. Food will be brought to you when you want it, just send a slave to fetch it for you.”

Anders thanked his patron hurriedly, sighing in relief when his patron turned and headed into his own office, fortunately a good distance away from the room that he and Mitchell would be occupying.

“Right, let’s get started,” he ducked behind the heavy curtain and faced the other man, who was standing in the centre of the room

“With the poetry?” Mitchell asked, raising an eyebrow as the blond just discarded his supplies onto the table haphazardly.

Anders smirked.

“Of course not, that won’t take us any time at all, I’ve got it all in my head already. You’ve just got to write down.”

“Well, then what do you propose we do?” Mitchell’s eyebrow rose even higher as the other man crossed the room towards him.

“This,” he said simply, and then in one fluid movement he had pressed their lips together.

“We can’t do this here,” Mitchell hissed, pushing Anders’ chest gently to separate them. “Someone might hear us.”

“That’s why there’s a curtain,” the blond said, “No one’ll hear us through that. Now, come on, John, we’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do.”

“Don’t you think we should talk first?”

“Do you want to?”

There was a pause before Mitchell answered.

“Not really.”

Anders’ chuckled reply was lost as he was pushed against the nearest wall and kissed soundly.

* * *

“I could write a poem about you,” Anders said as they lay together on one of the couches, Mitchell’s arms wound tightly around his waist.

“It wouldn’t be a very long poem now, would it?” Mitchell replied, “You don’t know much about me.”

“I know everything about you, John.”

“No, I mean, you don’t know much about _this_ me. And I don’t know much about _this_ you.”

“Oh, so you want to have this talk now?”

“When else were we going to have it?”

Anders grinned suggestively at him.

“After a second round?” he asked, to which he received a sharp pinch to his side. “Ouch, that hurt, you monster. Alright, we’ll talk. Tell me about Britannia.”

“It’s green,” Mitchell started, “A lot greener than here, and it rains more. I spent most of my time hunting, we don’t exactly have many markets to buy meat from when we want some. I liked being outside in the fields and the forests; it felt freer out there.”

“Well,” Anders said, running his hands up and down Mitchell’s sides teasingly, “My parents left me a lovely country estate just outside of Rome. We could go there sometime.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Yeah, just the two of us.”

They laid there in silence for a bit until Anders’ stomach rumbled loudly.

“I’ll go and get some food,” Mitchell grinned, kissing the end of the blond’s nose and watching him screw his face up at the gesture. He untangled their legs and pulled his tunic over his head before heading for the curtain with a chuckle. “You might want to put some clothes on.”

Anders glared at him and then buried his head in the couch cushions with a loud groan.

* * *

They did manage to get the poem finished that day, and Anders informed Master Lucius that they would be composing an entire collection over the course of the next few weeks, to which his patron seemed quite satisfied by his decision. And so, he and Mitchell spent everyday together in their little writing space, revelling in their private moments, until something, as something always did, came along to ruin it.

“Anders! Anders, are you nearly finished with that last piece?” Master Lucius’ voice suddenly broke into the quiet words that were being exchanged between the two men and there was the sound of footsteps.

“He’s coming over here!” Mitchell said urgently, “Here, put this on.” He threw a tunic at Anders, who threw it straight back.

“That’s yours!” he said, “Mine’s on the floor by the table.” He retrieved it quickly and pulled it over his head, securing his belt in record time. “What is he doing? He never comes to check on us! Did we finish the last line?”

Mitchell picked up the poem nearest him.

“Yes, thank goodness,” he nodded, leaving Anders sitting on the couch while he went over to the curtain to pull it open for Master Lucius’ arrival.

He cast one look back at the blond quickly and found him motioning to his head with one hand.

“What?” he asked, reaching up to check there wasn’t anything in his hair before suddenly realising exactly what Anders was trying to signal to him. He raked his fingers roughly through his curls, attempting to flatten them into some semblance of respectability, just as his master threw the curtains aside himself and entered without a word.

“It’s all done,” Anders stood up and handed his patron the poem. “John is most helpful, I was wondering whether I could employ his services with my next work. I was thinking an epic of some kind, though I’d much prefer to work in the country. I’ve got a villa…”

“I’m afraid not,” Master Lucius held up a hand to silence him, “The slave will no longer be in either of our services from tomorrow. I have had an offer from an old friend of mine to buy him. I need the money, and this is the perfect opportunity to get some. I’m sure you can find another who is just as helpful, Anders, but a little less wild. I’m not fond of the wild ones.”

The colour drained from Anders’ face, and over his patron’s right shoulder he could see Mitchell’s fist close over the curtain material so tightly that it seemed he would pull it from the rail without realising.

Something wasn’t right with this; there was no way that Master Lucius needed money.

“Master Lucius, you can’t just sell him,” the blond said, fighting desperately to keep his voice even. “You can’t. John and I, we work as a team now. I’ll pay double for him, more than any old friend of yours.”

“You can’t afford that, Anders,” Master Lucius replied, “You don’t even know the amount I’ve been offered.”

“I’ll pay you what I can,” Anders insisted, “And I’ll work for the rest. I’ll take on other jobs. I could paint too, I can do more than just poetry.”

“As wide-ranging as I’m sure your talents are,” his patron said, “They will not be enough.”

“Then let me speak to your friend. Where does he live?”

Master Lucius chuckled.

“At the barracks; he’s a gladiator trainer. Seems to think that John will make a popular fighter, perhaps we’ll have to make a visit to see him when he’s finished his training.”

Anders’ blood ran cold and he shot a frightened glance at Mitchell, who still stood motionless in the doorway.

“I will take my leave then,” he said stiffly, crossing over to the table and sorting his supplies into order before turning around again. “I will think over what I will be pursuing in my next work and speak to you then, Master Lucius. I won’t be staying for dinner.”

And with that, he headed for the door, his hand brushing insistently against Mitchell’s for a moment, and then he was gone.

Master Lucius rubbed his hands together with a small smirk, and then also left the room.

As soon as he had gone, Mitchell sank down onto the couch that he and Anders had been lying on just a short time before and unfolded the slip of parchment that the blond had placed in his hand. On it was one simple instruction:

_Meet me at the Temple of Mercury on the Aventine Hill at the eleventh hour._

He let out the breath that he had been holding shakily.

Fate was coming for them.

* * *

Anders knew he looked suspicious, hiding in the shadows that the colonnade of the temples cast onto the marble, but he couldn’t stop moving restlessly, constantly waiting for the sight of Mitchell coming up the steps towards him.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder and he spun round, ready to confront whoever might be standing behind him. His heart jumped at the thought that it might be Mitchell, but it quickly sunk when he saw the soldiers in front of him, their captain’s hand still on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be out this late, sir,” the man said gruffly, “We’ve got a runaway to look out for and the streets aren’t safe this late at night.”

Anders’ throat went dry.

“A runaway?” he asked. “In these parts?”

The man nodded.

“A runaway slave,” he replied, “His master reported him missing barely an hour ago. Says he’s a right wild one, been branded as a thief already and it’s likely that he’s committed a number of other crimes.”

Anders’ mind went into overdrive. Mitchell had been branded, yet there was no way that he’d broken any other laws; he’d only been labelled as a thief because he’d stolen some bread from the soldiers who had been transporting the slaves to Rome. And to have been reported missing an hour earlier, there was no way that Mitchell would have left then, it had still been light.

“His master sounds rather desperate to have him back,” the blond said, suddenly finding his voice. “Was this slave particularly special?”

“Not really,” the captain seemed to give up the information readily. “And his master doesn’t want him back, he wants an example to be made.”

“An example?”

“Aye, Master Lucius was most insistent on that part.”

The world seemed to slow down at that moment, the sound of blood pounding in Anders’ ears blocked out all external noise as everything began to fall into place.

They’d been set up.

Suddenly, there was the sound of feet on the marble steps and as Anders turned, he caught sight of Mitchell’s startled expression when he saw the soldiers confronting him. He tried to hold out a hand behind him in warning for the other man to stay out of sight, but it was too late, the soldiers had already spotted him.

“Hey, you! Stop where you are!” the captain of the guard called out, “What are you doing out here as well?”

Eyes wide, Mitchell looked towards Anders for support as he lifted his arms in the air in a panicked surrender.

“Anders?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

The blond just shook his head and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Fate, John,” he said, “Fate decided our time was up, John. We’ve been set up.”

“What?” Mitchell cried, but it was lost in the sudden shout that one of the soldiers gave as he pulled the brunet’s arm and displayed the brand upon it to his captain.

“Separate them,” the captain ordered, the soldiers pulling the pair apart just as they reached for each other’s hands instinctively. “Now, Master Lucius’ was very specific on the first part of his orders.”

“About making an example of John?” Anders cried, struggling against the grip of the soldier who held him. “What the hell did he want to do to him?”

The captain frowned.

“No,” he said, “That was the second part of his orders. The first part was directed at you, he wanted to make sure that his slave watched while it happened. You stole another man’s property, and he wanted you to be punished appropriately.”

He stepped forward sharply and with one swift movement drew his knife from his sheath, barely pausing before stabbing it into the blond’s stomach. Anders’ mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he fell while Mitchell let out a strangled noise and tried to fight off his captors to reach the blond’s side.

“What about me?” the brunet turned to the captain, tears shining in his eyes as he spoke. “What were you ordered to do to me?”

The soldiers regarded him coldly but made no move to inflict any sort of punishment on him.

“Go on, do it. Kill me. It’s not like I’ve got anything to live for anymore, is it?” Mitchell continued. “This is what Fate wants. She wants you to kill both of us here and now, and even if you don’t, she’ll find a way to kill me anyway sometime soon. You’re here now, and you have your orders to make an example of me, so kill me. Let them find us both here tomorrow morning and see the example that is made of us then.”

He never even saw the slight nod that the captain gave to the soldier holding him, there was just a sharp pain and then the blunted sensation of a foot kicking him down onto the ground.

He landed curled around Anders, almost protectively, as their blood mingled together and ran down the marble steps.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to add that this is not an extreme punishment for a runaway slave since as long as their owner agreed to it, anything could be done to them; and in the case of Anders 'stealing' Mitchell from his owner, it is legal for him to be killed since a thief could be killed on the orders of the victim as long as the theft took place at night or involved a weapon.
> 
> I will be writing a second Roman oneshot for another prompt soon.
> 
> Also, if anyone still has any prompts, I'm still happy to accept them :)


End file.
